by Rick Heinz
Lady of Fate rose. “The ritual led by Warlock Verkonis in Greenland was a failure. They have turned their backs on the Unification and sacrificed our members to the ritual for their own purposes.” The people in the room lost control. Their largest undertaking dangling by a spider’s thread over oblivion.
“Order and silence!” Dr. John C. Daneka rose from his seat. He currently served as the death lord of those who were killed by demons or angels. Or as the room knew him, Lord of Heaven’s Wrath. “The ritual led by Warlock Vryce in the Twin Cities was a success.” That was all he had to report. Fortunately, his position as the thirteenth chair meant none would speak up. Their looks, however, suggested they were filled with questions and doubts about their chances of success.
Dr. Daneka continued. “A Lilith moon has been sighted in the sky, which confirms that the bleed will be greatest in the northern hemisphere. Lazarus has many doors open for him. Our plans shall not be stymied because of this interference. Let us take this as a sign. The bleed has spread, creating even more portals than we ever intended. Three hundred of our organizations are searching for Lazarus’s prison. Will any of them achieve the glory of his return, perhaps even unseating one of you?
“Let us use our demons to kill the warlocks who failed. The Seventh Age will have us as champions, to guide. In their vulnerability, let us give them everlasting peace to end their torment, removing their threat from the world. Their final sacrifice so that the world may be cleansed of sin and united under one world thought.” He paused. “Let us pray.”
They chanted in unison, heads bowed low. Dr. John C. Daneka stood in the middle with arms outstretched and led them in prayer. “We saw the thrones on which were seated those of us who had been granted authority to judge. And we saw the souls of those who had been beheaded because of their testimony about Lazarus and the word of God. They had not worshiped the prophet or drank of the host’s blood. They were cast into darkness to wander blind in the Land of Nod for a thousand years. Amen.”
Dr. John C. Daneka loved that prayer. He spoke with every ounce of conviction he could muster forth from his dead soul. Acolytes of Lazarus had been beheaded in the past. Now, centuries later, they sat on the thrones and had taken the authority to judge humanity, to bring back their savior. To return order to chaos. The death lords had all eaten the hearts of the hosts and drank of their blood. They shattered their souls for power to do what must be done. They ruled over the vaults of souls. Their legions were many. The next crusades would begin soon. Lazarus and his descendants would pardon them for following in his footsteps and return from purgatory with their shattered souls. They were no longer blind. Oh, the irony of it all.
CHAPTER 20
“Wake up.” The voice sounded hazy to Mike.
In the shadow of the Second City’s skyline, in the bowels of industrial parks once referred to as the Jungle, Morris slammed his fist, wrapped with barbed hooks around thick leather gloves, into Mike’s face. It left deep gashes, yet no blood flowed. Meat hooks thrust into Mike’s wrists hoisted him up on chains, yet Mike felt little pain. They were in the ungentrified no-man’s-land just outside the city proper. Outdated lights dangled from high steel rafters, emitting a dying orange light. The warehouse was a giant health-code violation, yet it still shipped hot dogs to every street vendor in Chicago. Mike opened one of his eyes to look at Morris before another punch came. Even though Morris had great strength behind his frame, Mike took the blow as if it were a child hitting him.
The last thing Mike remembered was Morris looking at him and telling him to sleep after Matsen narced on him. “Really, Morris? Ya going through with this? I mean, it’s not like you can torture me. I barely even feel this. It tickles,” Mike said. “Frankie, talk some sense into him. I mean, this is about as effective as you putting on skin lotion.”
“Oh, it’s not about you, friend,” Morris said. “It makes me feel better. Vampires always think they are invincible. Let’s see that smirk of yours when the sun rises.”
“If you want to feel better, I know a great taco stand,” Mike said as Morris slammed his fist into Mike’s chest, sending him rocking back on the chains like a kid on a swing. Winters grabbed Mike’s shoulders to hold him like a punching bag. “Okay . . . how . . . about I mail you a fruit basket?” Mike coughed. “Everyone likes nutmeg, right?”
“I don’t think you get it, friend. You created a metric shitstorm that I’ll have to clean up. The world is short of punching bags that I won’t break, so I might as well get some use out of you.” Morris did a skip back and started winding up for another punch.
“Ahhh, fuck it.” Mike wrapped his forearm around the chain. The steel beam ripped off its rusted joist as he heaved, putting his weight into a right hook that connected with a wide-eyed Morris. The punch was so hard that it created ripples on the side of Morris’s head as his skull was shattered. Morris was flung like a rag doll across the warehouse, crashing into shipping barrels on the other side.
Echoes made Matsen and Winters cover their ears. They took cover from flying debris and hot dogs liberated from their packaging. Mike wound the chains on his left around his arm and ripped it free, causing shredded steel debris to rain down. Frank had taken cover inside the protective cage of a nearby forklift. “Come on, Morris! I’m just letting off some steam!” Mike shouted to the other end of the warehouse.
Mike bounced on the balls of his feet like a boxer, chains hooked into his wrists. He waited for Morris to get up. Morris bared his fangs, dropping any semblance of pretending to be human as his head restructured itself. He slowly pulled himself up. Dusting off, he picked a few bits of animal flesh off his shoulder.
Mike blinked. Morris was gone in that instant, vanished from Mike’s sight. That explains how I lost him in the alley.
“Running already?” Mike spun the chains around, creating a zone of protection in case Morris tried to sneak up.
“Nope.” Morris said from Mike’s left. Mike heard a thwump sound. He turned and saw Morris standing at distance, arm outstretched with a small crossbow. Mike didn’t feel any pain from the bolt hitting his chest, but that didn’t stop him from crumpling to the ground. Crap! Hey, why can’t I move! You gotta be fucking shitting me! I can think. I can see. But I can’t move. Even my eyes are stuck. From his vantage point, he could see Morris standing over him in his dirty shoes.
“Congrats, friend. You became a vampire. You stole the heart of a big-ass demon and its strength to boot. Allow me to introduce you to your number-one weakness.” Morris grabbed Mike’s hair and held up his head. “Me.”
“Actually, kid. It’s the shaft of wood in your heart now,” Patrick O’Neil said from behind Mike.
“Oh, hey there, Boss,” Morris said as he dropped Mike’s head, letting it thud on the concrete. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Showing the new kid the ropes, eh? Back in my day, this was done while walking uphill in snow, fighting off packs of the undead just to get a single drop of demon blood,” O’Neil said. Mike heard a snipping sound, followed by a cigar butt bouncing off his face and landing in front of his nose. Aw, come on, let me out! I have amusing anecdotes to say. You can’t make an old-man joke like that and not let me respond.
Mike saw more feet appearing behind Morris in the warehouse. Women’s biker boots, some nut job walking around with dirty bare feet and shredded camo pants, Doc’s shoes, some combat boots paired with an axe, and some fireman’s boots. Great, the village people are here. Hey, wait. Doc! Yo, Doc, let me out! Let me out!
“What do you want done?” Morris asked.
Mike could hear everyone get closer. All he had to look at was a rusty steel chain that was rocking back and forth from the earlier fight. So this is how you arrest a vampire. Solitary confinement is preferable. At least I can hear myself talk. He heard himself chanting to the crowd about being sons and daughters coming from a device in someone’s hands. I’m really fucked.
“Nice speech, kid. Knew you had it in you,” O’Neil
said.
“Excuse me, Boss?” Morris asked.
“Despite how good you are, Morris, there was no chance of containing the news of Golgoroth marching on the United Center. Not only did our resident hero here stop it, he probably convinced most of Chicago to start hunting down demons and killing them. The last time demons tried to invade earth, men were armed with pointy sticks.” He took a drag from his cigar. A fleck of hot ash landed on Mike’s eyeball. Oh God! I can’t blink! Get it off! Get it off! Patrick O’Neil continued without noticing Mike’s plight. “I’d like to see the forces of hell wander into Englewood. Shit, I’d pay for center-ice seats to see the reaction on a rage demon’s face.”
“But what about the Unification’s plan? Our job?” Morris pleaded.
“Let’s be practical. There are people far smarter than you working out all of that. Let’s just handle what is thrown at us one step at a time. This is currently an invasion force of demons, slowly ripping their way into this world. Let’s get our city under a semblance of control first. I have boys on the ground in the Twin Cities, figuring out what went down. They need time to cook a bit,” O’Neil said.
“So what about him, then?”
“Doc, what’s your prognosis?” O’Neil asked.
“Mike needs to learn his limitations. I think this could be a very insightful exercise for him. I’ve always been a firm believer in fringe therapy.”
Even though the ash on his eyeball clouded most of his vision, Mike saw Doc’s shoes tap in front of him like he was nervous.
“Maybe,” Doc continued, “being undead now, he’ll probably lose that near-death rush he was hooked on before. He’s going to need that back to survive if I know him at all.”
Gee, thanks, Doc. That swordfish is so getting thrown in a Dumpster after this.
“All right. Box him up. Four holes,” O’Neil said.
“Wait, what?” Doc moved between Mike and Morris. “I meant test him. Teach him limits. I’m fine with a little rough-up, but you can’t box him up and throw him away.”
Mike’s world shifted as he was rolled onto his back. He could see all of them standing over him. Four of them he didn’t recognize. All looked a little too excited.
“Tough love, kid. You’re a Nosferatu now, a vampire. It’s slightly different for each of us, but there are a few ground rules here you gotta learn. Eating a demon heart kills the body and keeps your soul inside. You replaced your old heart with the demon’s. Impale it and your body can’t move. Tacos are a thing of the past now. Blood is how you stay young, whole, and moving. Usually this is where everyone in the movies says that the movies are all false.” O’Neil looked up at Doc and winked. “Well, they are right. Mr. Daneka, we know what we are doing. Children only stick their hand on a hot stove once.”
Mike noticed that Patrick’s shirt had a few burn marks in it and ash stains. “We don’t have the leisure time to bring you in slow over a decade. You’re going to learn fear. A fear every Nosferatu needs. Trust me. It’s for your own good.”
Mike was picked up and stuffed into a barrel. At least the ash fell off my eye. He could feel the barrel shake when they drilled the holes. From under his arm, he could see with his left eye a beam of orange light bleed in. You know, the undead should really make self-help pamphlets. Hand them out to new recruits. I thought they offered dental coverage. I can’t believe Doc is in on this. Wait, yes I can. He’s been yelling at me for years about my rooftop antics. Oh, and I gotta remember to get some damn chest armor.
The barrel was picked up. Mike could feel the inertia from multiple hands carrying him as balance shifted. He spied out of a single hole as he was moved outside and carried up to the roof. He was placed so that he was facing Chicago’s east, the skyline large enough to see some of the smaller buildings. Ooh, a sunrise view. Come on. How bad can this be? I already know they aren’t going to kill me.
CHAPTER 21
Lightning snapped and arched in the air, leaving behind the smell of burned flesh and ozone. Pathetic. The cracked porcelain mask hid Vryce’s face as he raised his right hand to the sky again. A thunderstorm raged in the small Russian village. Clouds swirled, creating a vortex above him. He gestured down, summoning another lightning bolt. The flash impacting the worthless sorcerer could be seen for miles if there was anyone left alive to witness it.
Vryce had tracked down a fraction of his shattered soul in a northern province by a haunted forest near a farming village. At a helldiving site near Rasputin’s ritual, a witch had recognized the fragment for what it was on a dive and sought to claim its power for herself. I will not be denied that which belongs to me. She put up a little fight, controlling the winds in a vain attempt to get away through flight after she ensorcelled the entire village to attack.
Vryce casually shot her in the head with his pistol before finishing her off. He snapped his fingers again, bringing down a third lightning bolt. It was always best to be certain when dealing with witches.
The twitching of her fingers in the bloodstained patch of earth was her final sign of life. Vryce moved in to claim her soul as it tried to flee her body, carrying with it a fragment of his own. He took out a small crystal, clear and made of quartz, with delicate golden rings attached to a small chain. He twisted and dialed three rings into the right position while chanting in Latin. The green soul became visible as it exited her mouth and was sucked into the crystal. Behind the mask a fanged smile gleamed with satisfaction. Two down. Eight to go. One step closer. I just need time.
He looked at the small wooden buildings behind him, their small populace drawn out into the streets and burned to a crisp from his initial lightning storm. There could be no surviving witnesses to his actions yet. Vryce closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as he felt a part of him return. He was becoming something more than a warlock. Soul by soul he would undo the damage that had been done six hundred years ago at the behest of the death lord Lady of Misfortune.
He took a knee next to the fallen witch, her body slowly crumbling into a pile of ash. “Of course, and you wouldn’t know this, witch, but Lazarus and the lords of death guarded this secret well, even from me. Few grimoires detail that after the Room of Guf opens, my soul could be sent along the lines of the ritual. Rather than neatly entering the phylacteries, I had prepared for them,” he said while picking through the burned corpse for any items of significance.
He pulled out a gnarled raven’s claw that was attached to a blue cord. “Arcanists such as yourself, unfortunately, are drawn like crows to shiny objects when hunting for treasures beyond the Innocence. A fragmented soul shines brightly, and you sought to bind and steal its power for yourself. Such a waste. If only you minded your own business. You would have been more useful alive.”
Well, that’s not true. I can’t actually have acolytes of the Unification running around and diving into purgatory looking for Lazarus rather than just paying lip service to the Unification. I don’t want the competition. I’ve learned from his mistake and have no intentions of being dragged and chained in the depths of Hades because nobody can figure out what afterlife I belong to.
Vryce worked his magic to bind the fragment into the raven’s claw. His eyes remained closed as the sensation of vertigo made the world spin. Sweeter than any heart he had ever consumed, the rush of divine power flowing through him brought him to his knees. The vortex of clouds swirling above allowed lightning to dance between them. A signal to the world that divine law was being violated.
In the throes of the euphoric sensation, he felt magic of the world dance on his fingertips. A few more shards and he would be overflowing with it, finally able to rip the gates wider than initially, rather than seal them as Lazarus would.
Frozen winds swept away the pile of ash that remained of the witch. The ground near Vryce froze. Behind the porcelain mask, he gave no thought to his surroundings as he remembered his training over the years.
It was I who discovered the Kabbalistic tree of life was the perfect road map to piece a s
oul back together via arcane connections. He remembered centuries of research into the secret of lichdom via phylacteries, objects recovered from purgatory that a soul could rest within. I can deal with the sacrifice of forever being bound to this earth, unable to walk between worlds as a cost.
Lightning struck and rattled the ground, sending steam into the air. A second later the steam solidified back into frozen crystals, falling to the ground around him. He remembered the death lords stealing his research in the 1800s. They saw an opportunity to resurrect Lazarus with the combination of Gnostic Hermeticism and demonic knowledge. I will not suffer the thieves buckling the will of God and ruling this earth unchallenged.
Vryce knew that collectively, mankind was God, but individually, they were worthless, ignorant specs. They will never organize or awaken on their own. Someone has to do it for them. He reminded himself that vengeance was his primary motive as the raven’s claw clenched tightly in his hands turned into a state of permanent frost, an icy shell of its former self. There were many tools to climb the steps to enlightenment. “I prefer a healthy dose of cold revenge after a century of the death lords’ empty promises,” he said as he began to stand. “Oh, Vryce, we will make you a council member,” he mimicked while commanding the vortex to dissipate. The Society of Deus and I played as good little leashed dogs for the past century. “‘We can return your soul anytime,’ they said.” He pocketed the crystallized raven’s claw. With their great ritual under way, he could just collect it back on his own.
Vryce pulled out his own soul blade from the red velvet lining inside his trench coat. He sliced his finger along the curved dagger’s blade and felt the world shift around him as he teleported to the next shard on his list.
CHAPTER 22